


There's Only In Between

by maythefoursbewithyou



Series: The Matt and Corey Chronicles [6]
Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: M/M, another chapter in which the author indulges her unwholesome obsession with these two and fellatio, long distance relationships are hard, matty has feels, oh yeah there's some rehabbing too, surprise! it's 2014 now!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 21:54:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10750563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maythefoursbewithyou/pseuds/maythefoursbewithyou
Summary: It's 2014 now, and the boys try to make sense of a relationship that's made up of months apart and fleeting days together. Chapter One kicks off the day after Day Dreams and Comic Book Heroes ends.Title drawn from Juliana Hatfield's song 'Hotels' from the album Beautiful Creature





	There's Only In Between

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jiminyneesham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiminyneesham/gifts).



> It's 2014 now, and the boys try to make sense of a relationship that's made up of months apart and fleeting days together. Chapter One kicks off the day after Day Dreams and Comic Book Heroes ends.
> 
> Title drawn from Juliana Hatfield's song 'Hotels' from the album Beautiful Creature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That month or so together of perfect bliss on the subcontinent was enough for Matt to start to get comfortable in their relationship, for the first time, really comfortable. All his anxieties about whether to trust Corey were undone amidst the routine of cricket and the leisure of eating, drinking, fucking and sleeping together. And nursing each other through nasty bouts of food poisoning. He could liken it to a working honeymoon, only, after a honeymoon, people usually come home together. Coming home alone was some dark re-entry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive debt of gratitude to OutfieldOutlaw for being such a sensitive, thoughtful beta.
> 
> If you would like to read this but wanna skip the porn, scroll to the end of the first section (marked ---).

28th February 2014

‘Hey.’

It’s full light, Friday morning, and Matthew’s just opening his eyes to the tickle of beard and breath on his cheek, and bare skin warming his back. Every day is a blessing, but today, mm, today… Most often he wakes up alone, but not on this day. He delays rolling over a little longer, because when you’ve got a pair of big strong arms around you, you definitely don’t want to move the day along. 

‘Morning,’ he says, and gets fuzzy kisses in the crook of his neck in reply. ‘Mm, you feel nice.’

‘Speak for yourself.’ Corey sounds like warm chocolate in his ear. He yawns, stretches his legs like a cat waking up. Then he presses his body forward and squeezes Matt hard, drawing Matt’s bottom close to his pelvis, to the stiffness of his morning wood.

A ‘yum,’ pops out of Matt’s mouth, unbidden: he’s thinking of yesterday afternoon, of being on all fours. Hot sensations spread inside him, trickling through his groin like the first sip of hot tea when it reaches your stomach. So often he’s by himself when he feels this way that out of habit, he reaches for his cock. Then he remembers there’s someone beside him. He squirms a bit, loosening some of the tightness of Corey’s embrace, then wriggles around to face him. 

Corey’s eyes smoulder over that trademark languid half-smile. His lips part and hone in on Matt’s mouth; their tongues glide against each other. Matt swishes his fingers across the muscle and skin of Corey’s chest while their mouths move lazily. He gets squashed in close again, Corey’s thick arms are still wrapped around him. He can feel Corey’s smooth prick next to his: two swollen cocks, side by side. Downward he dips a hand.

‘Unh,’ Corey murmurs into Matt’s mouth, a sign that the fingers wrapping around him are more than welcome. His grip is just a tad shy of firm as he draws Corey’s foreskin back from the head, knowing that Corey likes a touch that teases. He commences to pump him, long and slow.

In the heady tangle of tongues, Corey breathes a deep, lengthy moan. Matt can sense the muscles in Corey’s arms and his torso become tense as he struggles not to accelerate the rhythm, to let the tantalising strokes be as they are. The hand that was clasping to the curve of Matt’s arsecheek is now travelling a faint path over his skin to the front of him, brushing over his pubes. It cups around his balls and presses them gently against his body. Now Matt’s cock is aching to be touched too. There’s only one thing for it, so with his other hand, Matt finds Corey’s and brings it upward to the shaft of his penis.

Fingers curl around him. ‘Yes,’ Matt whispers, breaking off the kiss, meaning to for only a moment, but he can’t help diving into the light blue pools of Corey’s eyes.

‘You like that?’ Corey asks, with a flick of his wrist.

With an ever-so-drawn-out pulse, Matt’s palm replies on his behalf. 

They’re kissing again. 

For a few moments at least, until Corey spells out with a thrust and a growl that he can’t abide this leisurely handfuck any longer. ‘You’ve got a slow hand on you for a fasty.’

Matt can’t resist. ‘You know how it is. The slower delivery does the trick.’ 

‘You’re a man of many – ‘ there’s a sharp intake of breath, ‘ – talents. How’s your sledging?’

‘For you, my mouth is filthy.’ Now Matt’s too busy giggling to keep up his other movements, and Corey’s beaming back at him, uneven front tooth making him look cheeky. ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ Matt tells him.

Those solid arms envelope Matt again, and Corey wrestles him until he is underneath, shoulders pegged against the mattress. ‘I’m not asking. I’m begging.’ That voice purrs sex right in his ear. It gives him gooseflesh, makes his hair follicles stand to attention. ‘So tell me where you want me.’

‘Armchair?’ 

Corey nods, releases him, and walks over to the chair by the wardrobe. Matt gathers up some pillows and sits beside him on the chair’s arm. He touches Corey’s newly-furry cheek, and guides his face til they’re making eye contact. Damn, but he wears it so well, that impish mouth more kissable than ever. Corey glances over his face, lingering long on his mouth, leaving no ambiguity about what he wants. He licks his lips, then presses them to Matt’s. 

What am I now but a bundle of drunken, giddy feelings of desire? Matt wonders. Placing the pillows before him, he gets down on his knees, amidst Corey’s sprawled-open legs. Tickles the backs of his hands up Corey’s inner thighs, making the man suck breath through his teeth. 

Matt echoes kisses over where his hands have just been. 

‘Your lips,’ says Corey, breathing hard. ‘Is it wrong to want to fill something so pretty with my dick?’

Tongue-tied, not knowing what to say, Matt offers his mouth up to Corey’s balls in lieu of a response. He kisses and sucks, high on the salty taste of thighs. Hot hands comb through his hair and settle behind his skull.

‘Matty…’ At his name, Matt casts his eyes upward, takes in the sight of his lover, open-mouthed, great shoulders filling the chair and blond morning-mop sticking out at a few different angles. Takes a mental photo, and files it away. He’ll be needing these memories soon enough.

‘Yeah?’

‘I wish…’ Corey starts, but Matt knows how this sentence ends and he doesn’t want to think about it, and he doesn’t want Corey to think about it either. The guy shouldn’t be thinking at all. Fortunately Matt knows what to do about that, so he empties his mouth and starting at the base, licks a long line up Corey’s hard-on. 

The tip he kisses, swirls his tongue around it, holding the shaft in his palm and licking off a salty bead of precum.

That’s better: Corey’s eyes are closed now. And as Matt begins to bob his mouth up and down him, Corey expires a noisy, ‘Ahhh,’ of relief.

Being at Corey’s knees, mouth fitting snug around his dick, this is what Matt thinks about when he’s alone. Eagerly lapping at this gentle giant of a man fills him full of his own sexual need, and that can only be relieved by touch. He folds his hand around himself and tugs out the same tempo that’s he sucking. Corey moans full and low, ‘Don’t stop, keep going, keep going,’ his hands on Matt’s head encourage him to quicken the pace. Matt can’t take him any deeper, Corey’s cock is reaching the back of his throat til Matt’s lips make contact with his dark blond pubes.

With mouth full and hands full and brain on fire, Matt is moaning too, humming on Corey and fellating him faster, exactly the rhythm that Corey wants him to.

‘Oh fuck, you feel so…’ Corey starts to say, but he can’t finish. You sexy fucking man, thinks Matt, as Corey arches his neck, growling a great crescendo and shooting hot viscous liquid inside him. He thrusts hard, over and over, into Matty’s mouth, arm muscles tensing as he grips Matt’s head tight. Matt feels… everything. He can only buck senselessly into his hand, spilling his come on the pillow beneath him, just as Corey’s thrusts subside, before he carefully withdraws. Matty swallows down what he can, but the rest dribbles from his lips, and Corey is there to wipe it away with his thumb and a tender smile.

Suddenly sleepy again, Matt rests his head on Corey’s thigh. 

\---

When finally they get out of bed, it’s late morning, and they’re due for lunch with Corey’s family. It’s the last Corey will see of them – and Matty – before the T20 World Cup in Bangladesh. Matt’s been trying hard not to dwell on it, but last year was the most challenging of their relationship thus far, the couple oscillating between spending all of their time together and then none at all for months. This year could easily mean more of the same, especially now that Corey is an international cricketing rockstar. 

It’s the all-or-nothing of it that does his head in. One month, sharing a hotel bed in India, then in Sri Lanka, with the New Zealand A side. After all that, Matty came home in time to commence the first class season while Corey was whisked away on more tours overseas. Since the earthquakes, there’s no venue in Christchurch for international games, so Matty couldn’t even hope for them being in the same city at the same time. Not until a month ago, when Matty found himself bowling to the likes of Virat Kohli (Virat Kohli!) at the Cake Tin in Wellington as Cozza worked hydration. A fortunate turn of events, Matt’s call-up, and it led to his even stranger luck in the IPL auction, but it’s unlikely to be repeated. 

That month or so together of perfect bliss on the subcontinent was enough for Matt to start to get comfortable in their relationship, for the first time, really comfortable. All his anxieties about whether to trust Corey were undone amidst the routine of cricket and the leisure of eating, drinking, fucking and sleeping together. And nursing each other through nasty bouts of food poisoning. He could liken it to a working honeymoon, only, after a honeymoon, people usually come home together. Coming home alone was some dark re-entry. 

Matt’s become awfully familiar with these streets that Corey’s driving, the twists and turns of suburban roads on the way to the Anderson family home. Oddly enough, in the late spring months while Corey was far away, his Mum Lynda turned up one afternoon at a provincial game with a smile and an invitation to dinner. He’s still not sure how she knew how lonely he was – did Corey say something, or was she acting on motherly instinct? – but after a roast and chocolate self-saucing pudding and a flip through the family photo albums, Matt found himself invited to Friday night dinners for keeps. 

‘Are you sure I’m not in the way?’ Matt asked one night, helping Lynda load up the dishwasher.

‘Of course not!’ she laughed. ‘You’re always welcome here, Matthew. You’re family.’ He hugged her with the stiffness of someone who is not overly accustomed to familial affection. 

Bonding over missing Corey made Matt and Lynda closer confidantes than he can be with his own family. That, and Plunket Shield, and the company of Logan, Ryan and Toey, made the long separation not shorter but… endurable. 

This Friday, it’s lunch rather than dinner, and the Andersons, including Corey’s brother Cameron, have taken time off work to make an occasion of it. Since Corey is the focal point, it becomes, for Matt, a chance to blend into the background, which he’s most comfortable doing anyway. In fact, he’s thankful for it because things get tense. Seemingly out of nowhere, Cameron gets on something with Corey, about keeping his feet on the ground and ‘Just because you got the world’s fastest ODI ton, don’t go thinking you’re better than everyone else.’ It might, in other circumstances, look like a bit of a friendly ribbing, but there’s a wedge of bitterness in Cameron’s tone that strikes Matt as harsh.

As they leave, and Corey adjusts first his sunglasses and then the rear view mirror, Matt decides to give him the opportunity to talk about it, if he wants to.

‘It’s hard on him,’ Corey defends his brother. ‘We were closer when we were young. Fought a lot then too. But I’m not around as much, and he has the responsibility of being the dutiful son while I jet around being the successful one. Not that he isn’t successful, but well, you know. We used to play sport together and now I’m sort of living the dream. And all his friends, and all Mum and Dad’s friends, they wanna know about me. It’s weird for me, and I bet it’s weirder for him. Mum and Dad don’t treat me different, obviously, but there have been some awkward situations with some other people, and I don’t know. I think about it sometimes. What it must be like to work a desk job week after week when your kid brother is an international sportsman.’

‘Corey the Golden Boy Anderson.’

Corey groans. ‘I’d forgotten about that.’

In a little while, he pulls up in a parking lot near the botanic gardens. Its mid afternoon, and they’re likely only to encounter some joggers, some mums pushing strollers, having strategically missed the lunch crowds. They didn’t used to have to think so carefully about where and when to be together in public, but recently, some things have become discussion points. It’s not that they’re hiding. Corey’s just not interested in tiny tall-poppy Aotearoa knowing his personal business. They seldom hold hands in public places anymore. Matt remembers when he was the one concerned about the eyes and judgement of strangers, but now he misses their every-couple ease, their ability to be themselves without self-consciousness. 

They cross an arched footbridge and follow the path inside the bend in the Avon river, protected from the full flare of the sun by the shade of oaks and Japanese maples. Ducks waddle along the riverside, and occasionally a river punt glides by.

‘So,’ says Matty.

‘So,’ Corey repeats.

‘We haven’t had many chances to talk lately. About us,’ Matt begins, and Corey agrees.

‘It was, what, September, the last time we spent a decent amount of time together? Since then, when I've seen you, I’ve wanted to make the most of the little time we’ve had. It hasn’t felt right to bring up the hard stuff.’

Matt lowers his voice as a jogger comes towards them. ‘Me too. I’ve mentioned things when we’ve skyped, I guess, but I’ve sort of wanted to shield you from all of it.’

‘Shield me?’ Corey sounds concerned. ‘What do you mean?’

Matt takes a deep breath. ‘From how hard it’s been. How much I miss you.’

‘Oh.’ The quiet of his voice is almost childlike.

‘Corey, I don’t want you to feel bad about it. We both knew it wouldn’t be easy, the long distance thing. And I’m hanging on as hard as I can. But last year… if it’s like that again this year, I honestly don’t know what that will mean for us. I don’t know if I can go through that again.’

When Corey replies, there’s a quaver in his tone. ‘I don’t want to lose you, Matt. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.’

‘It’s not about me telling you what to do,’ Matt counters. ‘It should be about us making a plan. Together.’

There’s a park bench up ahead, and Corey is eager to sit down. A seagull greets them, expecting breadcrumbs, but Matt has no food to offer, and Corey, he hasn’t even noticed their web-footed companion. He’s leaning forward, hands gripping his knees.

‘Where are you, Corey?’ Matt lays a hand on his back. It’s not the first time he’s seen him panicking, but the man’s worried silence plays loud over the subtle accompanying whoosh of nearby traffic and the chatter of sparrows in the trees. 

‘Just catching my breath.’ As his lungs expand and contract, they lift the bones and sinew in his back, under Matt’s hand. A few moments later, he’s ready to speak again. ‘I hate that I’m hurting you.’

‘You’re not responsible for this though. It’s external stuff; things that are out of our control are getting in the way. But maybe this time, when you go, we can be prepared. Do things better.’ Matt wants to soothe him, but he’s also annoyed. He was the one who suffered while Corey toured, had fun, met new people and took in new experiences. Who’s comforting him? He brushes the annoyance aside. Its not helpful, not today. ‘Last time, we didn’t talk often enough. We should try, at least, to talk every day. Make a time, whatever works across the time zones. I just need to hear your voice. Often.’

‘I’m sorry. I let you down.’ Corey turns his head to meet Matt’s eyes. ‘Okay. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it.’

‘Thank you. I’m still gonna miss you, but knowing there’s just a little piece of you to look forward to every day, it’ll help. And what about you? There must be something you want from me when you’re away.’

He scratches his beard, and a crease appears in his forehead, then he smirks. ‘I need you to make the team, so we don’t have to be apart so much.’

Matt laughs. ‘I’m trying, I’m trying!’

‘No pressure.’ Then he’s serious again. ‘Just, you don’t have to try to protect my feelings. If it’s hard, I want to know about it. Then I can be there for you. Not literally there, but, you know.’

Easier said than done, thinks Matt. Even this conversation has been shadowed by Corey’s sensitivity. Nonetheless, Matt assents.

But Corey’s not done. ‘You should tell me. Now. What it was like for you. I think I need to know.’ He’s frowning again, and Matt wonders how much of an effort it is for him to reconcile needing to know with being afraid of what he’ll hear. 

He has to fortify himself before he begins. Remembering it all, going back there to the aching and the emptiness, and with Corey about to leave again. 

‘I lost a lot of sleep. And it was lonely. Back on the subcontinent, last September, I felt like you became my anchor. Because it was all new and crazy and busy and strange, in these different cultures where everyone speaks a different language. But you were there, all the time, and no matter where we were, as long as you were there, I was home. I stopped being afraid of us, our relationship. And then just like that, it was over, and I had to go home. Only home didn’t feel like home anymore.’

This is new – feeling tearful in front of someone else. It’s not that he doesn’t cry – he’ll admit that to himself – but he keeps those wells covered until he’s in private. He doesn’t do emotional displays, he had them hazed out of him in high school. Still, he’s damned well not going to let the tears behind his eyes spill over. No way. 

As if to emphasize everything he’s saying and feeling, “home” covers his hand, laces fingers between his. Matt is grateful for the shades that conceal his eyes.

‘Some nights I was so mad at you. Not that I had any right to be. But being in love with you when you were so far away felt like a cruel trick. The old sin stuff started to come back. I wondered if I was being punished for being gay. I fought with myself constantly, with this part of me that wanted to harden against you.’

‘Matty,’ says Corey, with a note of compassion, and Matt can’t bear the gentle way he’s being addressed. The validation makes it all too real, and he wants to take it all back, store it deep within himself again so that he’s the only one hurting.

‘Your Mum though. The guys too, but mostly your Mum. She kept me holding on. When I couldn’t hear your voice, I could talk to her, and she always knew what to say.’

‘Thought I recognised the chocolate chip biscuits in your pantry,’ Corey grins. Then he continues, sternly, ‘You need to tell me this stuff. Promise me.’

Usually he’s the one telling Corey to talk about his issues. The irony gives him pause. ‘Are you sure? You don’t need to be worrying about me when you’re in Chittagong or wherever.’

‘That’s for me to decide. I’d rather know than not. I’d rather you let me be close to you. I just wish…’

Christ. Corey and his God-forsaken wishes. ‘I hate when you say that,’ he interrupts. ‘This is how things are. Wishing changes nothing.’

Corey squeezes his hand. ‘I’m back in April. It’s only a week, but still. And then we’ll both be in India, sometimes in the same city. Maybe we’ll even play against each other. And when we’re not, I’ll call you every day.’

For a few more moments, they sit quietly together, Matt thinking that this conversation went better than he anticipated. Reactive as Corey can be, Matt resolves to credit him with a bit more emotional strength. It’s that bottomless heart that he fell for in the first place. 

Corey checks the time on his phone. ‘I should get my things from your place. And I need to return Mum’s car. You coming to the airport with us?’

‘Of course,’ says Matt. He wouldn’t miss that for anything. And with the sun still high overhead, but inching west, they retrace their steps to the carpark, much to a hungry seagull’s disappointment. 

\---

Gym time. Training and rehabbing to be done, adductors to stretch and strengthen. He was due time at the gym anyhow, but the emptiness that flooded back when Corey’s flight to Auckland departed made the need more pressing. Without cricket to occupy his mind, steer him away from dwelling on sadness, these walls stacked with exercise equipment take on a new centrality. It’s not just about getting back to full fitness, but using every means he can to stay chipper. Soon, he should be able to train with Canterbury again, but he’s expecting to miss the last games of the home season. If nothing else, he’ll be ready in time for the IPL, which is exciting, even if it is just training and drinks duties. He’s not under any illusions about getting to play for Chennai, friendship with coach Stephen Fleming aside. But meeting and playing alongside some of his cricketing heroes and the camaraderie of life on tour is alluring in itself. Not to mention the high probability of whirlwind moments with Corey. 

It’s not as tender as it was, his groin, and he finds that, almost a month on, he’s able to take the stretches further, one side gradually catching up to the other strength-wise. Didn’t seem to be an issue in bed, but then, Corey’s always been as thoughtful and accommodating as can be in that department. And, maybe because of his relative lack of experience when they got together, they’ve found a happy rhythm in which Matt’s tended to be the one getting fucked, rather than doing the fucking. (What an odd distinction that is, he decides. It’s not like I’m lying there the whole time doing nothing! And what was this morning, if not fucking Corey with my mouth? Shit, getting hard, need to think about something else. At the gym of all places, Matthew, recovering from a groin strain? You’re a total horndog, he admonishes himself.) 

Soon enough, workout complete, Matt takes his worries with him to the showers. Now that he’s told Corey everything, absolutely everything, they don’t seem insurmountable anymore. No matter what happens, he‘ll have regular phone calls, a coat rack on which to hang his faith in their relationship. Even the injury seems minor, all things considered, but then, once you’ve had back surgery, a couple of months out seems like child’s play. Water gushes from the nozzle, over Matt’s face and body, pushing all these small bothers in a clockwise motion down the plughole. 

There’s a text waiting for him when he pulls his phone out of his jeans.

**Corey**  
_Whatever it takes, Matty. I mean it._


End file.
